Andy’s heart began to thump. What had he not meant to say that morning? And yet here he stood—a stranger.
“It turned out very wet,” he answered, glancing at his boots.
“But you were driving—that was better than being on a bicycle.”
Then Andy knew she had taken the trouble to inquire how he came, and the blood rushed up into his forehead. It was awfully hard, but he had said he would play fair, and he would keep his promise.
“Were you out in the storm?” he said.
“No, we came back after it was over,” responded Elizabeth, whose manner began to change almost imperceptibly. “Well, I must go and help Norah with the other guests, I think,” she added in her soft, slow voice, and she began to move away.
But she had not been able quite to control that voice, which would catch on a deep note sometimes, just when she most wished to keep it even; and at the sound for which Andy’s heart unconsciously waited something rose up in him which belonged to the great powers of existence—strong to sweep a man off his feet, and down a current against which he strives with all his might. He had meant to keep his promise—he had done his best—but this was stronger than his will.
“Elizabeth——”
But when we have wanted to do our best, it is a fact that something outside of us often does intervene to help us when we fail—though nobody could possibly recognise anything supernatural in the intervention. Anyway, nothing could be less like a divine messenger than Lady Jones in blue and gold, who came round the end of the mulberry avenue with Mr. Atterton and the Mayor and Mayoress of Marshaven.
“My daughter Elizabeth—Lady Jones,” said Mr. Atterton, who was in high feather.